


In sickness and in health

by TheAssassinsGhost



Category: Black Sails
Genre: But he's a stubborn bunny, Domestic, Flint is not a well bunny, FlintHamilton, Fluff and Humor, I've been attacked by plot bunnies, Illnesses, M/M, Post-Season/Series 04, Thomas is just as stubborn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-02
Updated: 2017-05-02
Packaged: 2018-10-26 23:22:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,155
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10796895
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheAssassinsGhost/pseuds/TheAssassinsGhost
Summary: Captain Flint was never sick. Ever.But James McGraw is another story, whether he likes it or not.





	In sickness and in health

James was never sick.  
As a captain he could never have afforded illness, he could not be seen as weak in front of his crew. He could be beaten black and blue, he could be sliced to ribbons or even shot up, but never suffer something so benign as illness. Maybe it was the sea air, or maybe it was just plain luck, but during his time as captain Flint he had fortunately never succumbed to sickness.

There was, as they say, a first time for everything.

He had retired to bed the night before feeling perfectly fine, a bit more fatigued than usual but he paid no heed to this. He found it extremely difficult to wake in the morning, and rather wished he hadn’t once fully alert. His throat and mouth felt like sandpaper, his body freezing despite the two blankets atop of him and the warm summer temperature, his head and sinuses feeling as though they were stuffed with cotton. He tried swallowing to wet his throat and winced at the flaring protest of his esophagus.

He was NOT sick.  
He refused to be sick.

He was just thankful that Thomas had risen before him. He was certain that whatever the problem was would sort itself out as soon as he started going about his daily business, though he knew Thomas would fuss if he saw him like this and he had no desire to cause him unnecessary worry. It was more than likely something simple and fixable like dehydration or indigestion. He’d have a cup of tea, gulp down some fresh air, work himself back to warmth while tending the turnips in the garden, and he’d be as right as rain.

 xxxxxxxxx

James had hoped Thomas would be in his study so that he would have righted himself by the time he set eyes on him that morning, but instead he found his love sat at the kitchen table reading, breakfast already eaten. James briefly wondered what time of the day it was.

“Hello, my love.”  
James hoped his voice didn’t sound too hoarse as he replied “Morning.” As he passed by he leaned down to kiss his love’s cheek before casually as possible starting to search their cupboards.

“What are you doing up out of bed?”  
James frowned as he poured himself some water “Why shouldn’t I be up? It’s morning after all.”

“Try early afternoon. You’re ill, you have no reason to be out of bed.”

James froze before turning around sharply. Thomas had placed his book down and was now resting his chin on steepled fingers, looking at James with concern.

James forced a chuckle through his aching throat. “I’m not ill, Thomas. Where on earth would you get that idea from?”

“You shivering in your sleep and your hoarse voice is a bit of a giveaway.” Thomas remarked drily “Who else do you suppose tucked the second blanket around you, the fairies?”

James wasn’t sure how he’d overlooked that. Especially in such severe summer heat. “I appreciate the concern, Thomas, but it’s really not necessary. I’m just dehydrated, that’s all.”

“Do you think me so dense as to believe that, James?”

James shook his head, ignoring the dizziness resulting from it. “Of course I don’t think you’re dense, you’re one of the most intelligent men I’ve ever come across. I’m just saying that I know what sickness feels like and I don’t feel sick, so do not concern yourself. I’m quite alright.”

Thomas raised a disbelieving eyebrow but much to James’ relief just shrugged his shoulders. “I suppose I have no choice but to believe you.”

James smiled as he began sipping his water, the taste strangely metallic in his dry mouth. He ignored the unpleasant rising sensation within his stomach as best he could while he sipped.  
Thomas’ attention flicked back to his book. “I was just in the middle of a fascinating study of the medieval ages. An interesting yet very grisly time, that.”

“Oh?”

“Yes, very.” Thomas kept his eyes trained on the letters in front of him. “Even the food preparation sounds ghastly. Because of lack of a sewerage system people dined quite a bit on pigs who survived on human waste in the streets, the poor pigs intestines, stomach and bladder used to encase sausage and the like…”  
He didn’t lift his gaze once while James face seemed to pale further.

“Even worse was this thing called farcing, where they’d skin the animal, mince up the insides and flavour them with spices, before shoving it all back into the skin, the whole thing then preserved with highly salted butter and grease…”

He heard first the thud of the mug as it was hurriedly placed down on the work bench and then the end part of a retch as his beloved suddenly tore out the back door, hand covering his mouth. He smiled guiltily as he placed aside his copy of ‘ _A political study of ancient Greece_ ’ and chased after his lover.

xxxxxxxxx

 

Less than half an hour later a very sulky ex-pirate captain was back in bed, arms folded childishly, throat rawer than ever after vomiting.

He still argued while Thomas tucked the blanket further around him “That was despicable of you.”

“I know.” Thomas smiled as he felt James’ forehead with the back of his hand.

“Using underhand tactics to get your way is not very honourable.”

“You forget that I used to be a politician.” Thomas tutted as he wet a rag and gently wiped it over his love’s brow.

The coolness against his heated forehead was most soothing, though James refused to show any relief. “Be that as it may, your over informed description was successful in turning my stomach, nothing more. That does not mean I am sick.”

Thomas, well aware that James had seen and even eaten far worse during his time on the sea, felt arguing further would be wasteful and instead held a mug of fresh water to James’ lips, which he sipped from begrudgingly.

Once satisfied he grunted “I’m fairly certain this is just a ploy of yours to get me into bed.”

James might have been more convincing had his sentence not been punctuated by a huge yawn. The sight of him all grumpy and sulking, a glare on his face which might have once struck fear into the hearts of merchant sailors made redundant by his weary expression and being swamped by blankets, only endeared him further to his love.

“First of all, you say that as if you ever needed much convincing. Secondly, I love you more than life itself my darling, but even I have to draw the line somewhere.” Thomas placed a kiss on his shivering partner’s forehead. “Now get some sleep.”  
“I’m not tired.” James mumbled as he tried fighting off overwhelming exhaustion.  
“Of course you’re not.” Thomas muttered soothingly as he began stroking the auburn hair rhythmically, James leaning into the touch instinctively like a cat. “Keep on saying that.”  
“I’m-”  
Whatever James was, his love never found out as he finally surrendered to a deep and sudden slumber. With a smile, Thomas unfolded James’ arms and lay him in a more comfortable position, James not stirring once. He then settled the mug of water on their nightstand and positioned a bucket carefully at James’ side of the bed. He pressed another kiss to his lover’s temples before leaving him to rest.

xxxxxxx

 

James woke many hours later, blinking sleep out of his eyes and wincing once again at the burn of his throat. He reached out for a drink, surprised at how weak the muscles in his arm and wrist felt. He’d managed only a few sips before he felt the horrible rising sensation in his belly again and discarded the mug in favour of leaning over his bedside and heaving his guts out into the empty bucket.

He was swishing water around his mouth and spitting it into the bucket in disgust when his partner entered the room. “Oh good, you’re awake. How are you feeling?”

“Like there’s a group of flamenco dancers throwing a fiesta in my stomach.” James grunted hoarsely “And they’ve just brought out the tequila.”

Thomas chuckled as he sat on the bed and handed James what looked like a steaming mug of black tar. James eyed the mug suspiciously “What the fuck is that?”

“It’s probably better if you don’t know.” Thomas averted his eyes. “But trust me, it’ll help.”

James tried to sniff the mugs contents and grimaced “Thomas if I drink this I’ll just end up vomiting again.”

“Trust me.”

James couldn’t really say no to that, so with gratitude that his current state made him unable to taste anything, he rolled his eyes and reluctantly downed the thick liquid.

It was as horrific as he had expected, and he was sure it would all come right back up within seconds, but to his surprise it stayed down.  
“That wasn’t so bad, was it?”

James fell back onto his pillow with a groan “If I’m poisoned by the morning just know that I love you beyond all reason and Miguel likes dark oats, not the lighter ones.”

Thomas sighed. “I see illness makes you over-dramatic. Still, I suppose it’s progress that you’re at least admitting to being sick.”

James nodded weakly in defeat. Surprisingly the horrid fluid seemed to already be working as he felt some of his stuffiness and sore throat fade, even if he still felt completely worn out and weak.

“Where did you get the recipe for that concoction?”

“They used to feed us it regularly at the plantation when I first arrived. A method of building up our immune systems as it were, since we would be working outside in all weathers. If you think its vile now you should try it when you can actually taste it.” Thomas shuddered. “Still, it was effective. I worked throughout full monsoon seasons without ever catching colds or flus.”

James frowned “How is it that I never got a dose of it?”

“Sometime a couple of years before you arrived a group of the workers declared it to be a crime against humanity and refused to drink it. As it happened the owner wasn’t too much bothered by this so long as they worked through their illnesses, so it was no longer mandatory.”

“Thank God for small mercies.” James commented drily.

Thomas smiled. “It tasted vile, smelled even worse when it was being made. But it was still preferable to working with illness, so I still took it voluntarily if I could feel a cold coming on. Better than any doctor.”

James’ expression softened at the thought of Thomas having to work when ill, with no sympathy. He knew from his own experience that the plantation wasn’t terrible, but at the end of the day it was what it was; a work camp. The inmates were not treated inhumanely but they were still just statistics on a sheet of paper, there was no special treatment for anybody, you did your work and you were kept alive, that was the end of it.

Thomas didn’t seem troubled by this reminder of the past. Thomas, James had learned long ago, tended to focus more on the positives of his past than the negatives. It was a trait James both loved and envied him for.

Thomas made to rise from the bed “I also made you some not-so-disgusting soup earlier, if you feel fit for it?”

“Maybe later. I’m still feeling drowsy.”

Thomas nodded “I’d say a few hours more rest should cure you right up. I won’t be far away if you need me.”  
As he went to stand up a hand shot out to grab his shirtsleeve.

“Thomas….would you mind just…..staying with me for a bit, please?”

James couldn’t bring himself to care about how clingy or pathetic he must sound. He was feeling horrid and miserable and craved his love’s comfort. He couldn’t kiss him for fear of passing on his cold, he might not even be able to hold him if they were to be particularly cautious, but having him near would be enough. He just wanted Thomas.

Thomas stroked his cheek tenderly, eyes full of affection and not the slightest indication that he thought James needy. “Of course I don’t mind, my love. Just let me grab a book and I’ll be right back.”

James watched him go and return a few moments later with a couple of books in hand, clearly set up for remaining exactly where he was. Thomas removed his shoes and got into bed with care to disturb James as little as possible, drew the blankets over himself and opened his left arm welcomingly. James accepted this invitation, curling up at Thomas’ side with Thomas’ arm holding him close. He too wrapped his arm around his love’s waist and half buried his face in his shirt contentedly while Thomas picked a book.

“Would you like me to read aloud for you?”

James shook his head. “I’m halfway asleep already. Besides you’ve already done more than enough for my pathetic self today. Thank you.”

Thomas pressed a kiss to his scalp “Don’t be ridiculous. You are my love and you were poorly, how could I do anything else but take care of you?”

No one else to James’ memory, except for Miranda, had ever taken care of him. Not like this. That being said, he wouldn’t have allowed anyone else to. He was captain Flint, the cold-hearted villain of the sea, vulnerable to no one. Yet here he was, probably looking as bad as he felt, cuddling into his long-term lover for comfort while suffering the sniffles. He was vulnerable to Thomas, just as he had been to Miranda, because he had let himself be. No one else knew him better because there was no one else he had trusted that knowledge with. The only other person still living with as good a knowledge was Silver, and yet Silver only knew _of_ James McGraw, but had never got the chance to know him personally.

All the same he disliked the fact that that day Thomas had to go out of his way to look after him, although he knew full well that Thomas didn’t mind and that he himself would be ten times worse should Thomas be the one sick. But that would be different because Thomas was worth taking care of. Thomas had spent years alone with no one to take care of him, the cruel irony being that he had been labelled as mentally ill. He’d told James all about his experiences in Bethlam, it was nothing short of a miracle that he had for the most part come out the other end intact. After all this time, there were still points like this where James felt himself unworthy of the adoration the man showered over him, when Thomas’ kind and loving nature by all rights shouldn’t have survived that place.

Thomas knew on a daily basis that he was loved, James made sure of that, but he did wonder as to whether his partner knew the exact extent. Jesus, he wondered if even HE knew the exact extent.

It was just then he’d noticed what book Thomas had chosen to read. This recalled one particular visit to a small town in Spanish Florida the year before…

Upon their arrival there, Thomas had seen signs advertising a public, political discussion in the community hall. James knew even before the gaze turned his way that wild horses wouldn’t stop him from attending it. He himself declined, having no sincere interest in politics and not as adept in his spoken Spanish as his lover.

In Thomas’ absence he’d seen their horses to the stables and had taken a stroll to pass the time. He’d happened upon a book shop, all of the titles being in Spanish. His reading level of the language was much better than his spoken. Keeping this in mind while he browsed, it had suddenly occurred to him that it had been over half a decade since he and Thomas were reunited, more than half the time that they had been separated for. For whatever reason, he thought this significant.

A couple of days later when they’d arrived home, James waited until his love was settling down for bed before reaching into a jacket pocket and wordlessly extracting a leather-bound book. Thomas paused in his unbuttoning of his shirt and accepted the offered book. He then reclined on their bed as he looked at the title with a smile. James had gifted him with a copy of ‘ _La Galatea_ ’, the same book he had gifted Miranda with all those years before in Nassau.

“Thank you, my love. You shouldn’t have.”

James replied, sounding almost shy, “Open it.”

Thomas frowned in confusion before doing as told, leafing to the first page.

 

_Thomas,_

_Mi alma,_  
_Eres mi orgullo._

_J.M._

 

The handwriting was done with extreme care, and James prayed his translation had not failed him. Judging from the way Thomas was still staring at the inscription with eyes that were glistening, James reckoned it had had the desired effect.  
Thomas slowly closed the book and placed it down on the bedside table gently as though it were precious. He silently beckoned his beloved to him, James complying easily. Cradling James’ face tenderly, forehead resting against his love’s, Thomas had asked softly “Do you really mean that?”

By ways of reply he pressed a kiss to the spot where Thomas’ forehead met the bridge of his nose, then softly on his mouth. “Of course I do. Please don’t tell me that you needed words on paper to realise that.”

‘ _La Galatea_ ” was normally displayed carefully on a shelf in Thomas’ study, beside James’ copy of ‘Meditations’ which had mysteriously been sent to the plantation about a month before they had escaped it. There had been a small, brief note attached.

_‘Take care of him, and of yourself, whoever you might be now. The Cook.’_

James watched lazily as Thomas turned his pages, reading the Spanish words with ease. James was too tired and too comfortable to read along, his eyes starting to close once more.

“I hope you already know this, but I meant what I said earlier.”

“Hmm?” Thomas looked away from his book to stare down into the green eyes gazing up at him.

“About loving you beyond all reason. Even if I’m a difficult sod who maybe doesn’t say it as much as I should.”

Thomas smiled warmly. “I know you do, and I love you too. Especially when you’re being a difficult sod.”

He put his book aside a moment and bent his head down for a proper albeit chaste kiss, James reluctantly stopping him halfway. “You’ll end up making yourself sick.”

“I’ll risk it.”

**Author's Note:**

> Inspiration: Have personally been sick this past week, my chief caretaker being an unsympathetic 3 year old cousin demanding stories for her nap. Thank Christ for the Cbeebies bedtime story playlist on YouTube, can't tell you how many times this week the melodious storytelling of Toby Stephens & co. saved me (If anyone's interested, she prefers Rupert's stories to Toby's, hence why Thomas is the carer in this story). (P.S. both tell pirate stories.)
> 
> "Mi alma" translates literally to 'my soul', but is also a heavy Spanish term of endearment usually reserved for lovers who have been together for a long time and intend to stay that way. "Eres mi orgullo" translates as 'You are my pride." Self-explanatory.
> 
> Thanks once again for reading, and thanks so much for the reviews on my other stories you honestly make my day with them. Peace and love to you all.


End file.
